


(trying to be) less volatile, less violent

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Series: there will be music despite everything (sw/mcu au) [2]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Crack Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Gen, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, smooshes 616 and mcu together slightly, still at it.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 16:44:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8760994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: “Typical,” says Darcy. “Crazy drunk guy’s walking around ranting about hammers and Hi-I’m-Dall or whatever and your first instinct is to take pictures of the fancy circle thingy.”
or: Anakin Skywalker, Darcy Lewis, and the time they hit a guy with their car.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title is from Eliel Vera's "[a short list of stars that died this year](https://therisingphoenixreview.com/2016/08/27/a-short-list-of-stars-that-died-this-year-by-eliel-vera/)". if some lines are familiar, that's because they were lifted straight from the Thor movie.

Darcy’s been at this internship thing for little more than two months when everything gets a _little bit_ crazier than usual.

First, freaky weather stuff starts happening. Darcy doesn’t really mind the more frequent displays of fancy lights in the night sky, she even brings a booty call out of town to look at it, but John gets _excited_ about it. Something about every single occurrence of a subtle aurora coinciding almost _exactly_ with his research, and it takes Darcy threatening to knock him out cold to get him to take breaks from gathering as much data as possible.

Second, John calls Erik down from New York, and both of them spend a good afternoon debating over whether to go check out the next occurrence, because _apparently_ John’s managed to figure out the pattern to the freaky weather stuff going on. Scientists are _weird_ , Darcy decides, and she takes advantage of John’s distraction to use his laptop to download some more albums onto her iPod.

Third, they hit a guy with a van while chasing a storm.

And that’s when things get even crazier.

\--

“Okay,” John’s saying, as Darcy’s driving them back to town where there is a hospital with actual professionals that can help some crazy homeless dude, “okay, okay--Erik, do we have some ice there? Splints? Anything?”

“Calm _down_ , John,” says Selvig, reasonably.

“I can’t calm down!” says John. “Okay, so he’s not dead, but I hit him with a car and then Darcy tasered him--”

“I told you, he was freaking me out!” Darcy shouts. “Big burly shouty _totally hammered_ dude and itty bitty me, there was _no way_ he wouldn’t!”

“He’s alive, you didn’t inadvertently kill someone,” says Selvig. Which is really reassuring, if one ignores the giant unconscious dude lying on the floor being fussed over. Which is exactly what Darcy is trying to do, hard as it is with the guy occasionally making faint noises while unconscious. “Neither of you did.”

“Yeah, but--” John starts, then stops, and runs his gloved hand through his hair. _I’m told I’m lucky I just can’t remember anything about me,_ his voice echoes in Darcy’s head, the bitterness and grief winding through it.

“Don’t worry about it, Doc,” she says. “You heard him back there, he was probably _really_ trashed. He’ll wake up and think this night was just a really bad dream, and that’s all the amnesia he’s ever gonna have.”

“I hope so,” John mutters.

“Though I think he’s kinda concussed,” Darcy adds.

“You’re a very reassuring sort of person, aren’t you?” says Selvig, as John’s head thunks against the side of the van in answer. “Though I’d give that theory some validity, considering he hasn’t woken up yet.”

“Taser and concussions don’t go well together, who knew,” John mutters. “And--what about that circle? With the symbols and everything?” Darcy sees him straighten up in the rear view mirror, his eyes sparking with curiosity. “I’ve never _seen_ it before.”

“It seems familiar,” Selvig says. “But--I don’t know. If I have seen it before, then it’s been a long time since I last did.” He sighs, says, “Did you take pictures?”

“A lot,” says John. “This is _me_ , Erik. I bring my camera for _everything_.”

“Typical,” says Darcy. “Crazy drunk guy’s walking around ranting about hammers and Hi-I’m-Dall or whatever and your first instinct is to take pictures of the fancy circle thingy.”

“The _fancy circle thingy_ could be part of the proof I need to get people to listen to me,” says John, a little irritated. “I mean, come on, Darce!”

“I’m not completely sure what a symbol no one’s ever seen before etched into the ground has to do with an Einstein-Rosen bridge, John,” says Selvig.

“What’s an Einstein-Rosie bridge?” Darcy asks.

“It’s a theoretical connection between two different points of space-time,” Selvig starts, at the same time John says, with a sly smile, “Wormhole.”

“Ooh, like in Deep Space Nine?” says Darcy.

“Probably like in Deep Space Nine,” says John. “I’m not too sure on the stability yet. But if I’m right and this is stable enough to be _traversable_ from one direction--” He huffs out a breath, looks up at the ceiling, and says, “God, could you imagine what we could do with that?”

Darcy’s not a physics major, not like Selvig or John. But she can imagine what John’s asking of her.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

“Yeah,” says John. “ _Holy shit._ ”

\--

They leave the guy at the hospital.

\--

They come back to the hospital.

“Jesus motherfucking _Christ_ ,” says John, when they step into the hospital room. “How the _fuck_ does someone just up and leave? Doesn’t this place have better security than this?”

“To be fair,” says Selvig, “if it had better security, I doubt we’d have been able to walk in here ourselves.”

“Can we get out of here?” says Darcy, rocking back onto her heels. “Like, this is obviously a bust. Let’s get snacks, I’m starving.”

“We’re looking for this guy,” says John, determined. “He’s the most important piece of evidence I have.”

“I’m not too sure finding him’s the best idea,” says Selvig, as they follow John out of the hospital room. Darcy follows after him, quietly mourning her pancakes, and glances to the side just as they pass by a lab, squints at the destruction that John’s evidence has managed to wreak. “You’ve seen what he did, right?”

“He was _inside that event_ ,” says John. “And we weren’t. So unless you have a better idea, we find him. Even if I have to scour the whole of New Mexico for him.”

\--

“I am _so_ sorry, I swear I don’t mean to keep doing this, please don’t be concussed--”

\--

“Oh, no,” says Darcy, once they’re back at the lab with big burly blond dude in tow. Thor, apparently. Selvig had snorted out a laugh, and sent all three of them inside the lab while he hauled out the equipment inside the van. It’s taking him a while. “Dude, did you eat all my Pop-Tarts?”

“You bought Pop-Tarts?” says John to Darcy, then, to Thor, “Wait a moment, you _ate them all_?”

“They were delicious,” says Thor, with very little remorse.

“They were my Pop-Tarts,” says Darcy. “I was gonna save them for a musical marathon!”

“I’ll get you a new box, Darce,” says John, looking Thor up and down. “And, uh, you should get dressed. You look like you escaped from a hospital. Which you did, but you don’t wanna be obvious about it.”

Darcy can’t really blame him. Now that they’re getting a better look at the guy, it’s kinda obvious he’s _very_ built, even through the hospital gown. Maybe all the more obvious _because_ of the hospital gown. Briefly, she fantasizes about climbing him like a tree.

Then she glances at John, who’s eyeing Thor with a not totally scientific interest before he rushes off to get his spare clothes.

“Damn,” she mutters out loud, as Thor steps into the bathroom with John’s clothes. She glances at John, who’s smirking in the bathroom’s direction. “Are you planning on sleeping with the crazy homeless person?”

“Mm, probably not,” says John, just as Selvig comes inside and sits down beside Darcy, shaking his hands out and grumbling something about his back and being too old for any of this. “Why, you planning on doing it?”

“You said that about Dr. Blake,” says Darcy. “And I’m not gonna stand in the way of you getting laid, man. I just want you to give me a heads-up first so I don’t, you know, walk in on you doing the nasty with somebody.” She pauses, spies Thor’s abs in the mirror, and whistles. “For a crazy homeless person, he’s pretty cut.”

John tilts his head to the side. “Huh,” is all he says, before he picks up his notebook and starts flipping through it, but Darcy spies the small smile on his face.

“Please don’t sleep with the homeless man, John,” says Selvig.

\--

“This mortal form has grown weak,” says Thor, strolling out of the lab in John’s pants and the shirt that reads _Live Long and Prosper_. “I need sustenance.”

“Yeah, I know a diner nearby,” says John, hurrying after him with a recorder and a notebook.

Darcy stares after him, then at Selvig, who lets out a long, tired breath and massages his temples with his fingers.

“Betcha twenty bucks he’ll do it anyway,” says Darcy, cheerfully, standing up from her chair.

“I’m not taking a bet I’ll lose,” says Selvig, resigned.

\--

“This drink,” says Thor, examining the empty mug, “I like it.”

“Hey, someone likes the shitty diner coffee,” says John, wryly. “Also, come on, what was it like inside that cloud?”

“I’ll tell Izzy at the counter you said that,” says Darcy, nodding to the burly Izzy, who smiles at John, eerily calm. “Also, how can someone eat an entire box of Pop-Tarts and _still_ have room for a stack of pancakes?”

“I have no idea,” says Selvig.

“Another!” Thor shouts, and throws the mug on the ground. Darcy startles, scooting her chair back, and she glances at John, who’s nearly jumped out of his, eyes wide with surprise.

“Don’t do that!” she says first. “Holy--”

“ _Fuck_ ,” says John, with feeling.

Selvig doesn’t say anything, just inches his chair back further away from Thor. Darcy kind of wishes she’d thought of that first, right now.

“Something wrong?” says Thor, looking so innocently confused. Darcy manages not to laugh in his face. It would not have ended well for her, she’s pretty sure about that.

“Don’t _do_ that,” says John, hands shaking. “That’s just rude.”

Thor blinks at him. “I meant no disrespect,” he says, conciliatory, and what the _hell_ kind of culture does he come from, that smashing someone’s mug on the floor isn’t “disrespect”? “I simply wanted another. It’s a delicious beverage.”

“Izzy is gonna kill you,” Darcy mutters. “Also, you could’ve _said_. Now Izzy’s gonna gut us like fishes.”

“No, she won’t,” says Selvig with a sigh, bending down to start carefully picking up the mug’s remains. Darcy glances at John, who’s running a shaking hand through his hair and breathing in, then out.

“No more smashing,” says John, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Seriously. All I know about where you’re from is that you came from inside that event last night, so I don’t know if you do things like that there, but _here_ , people don’t like it when you smash their things.”

“Oh,” says Thor, watching John. Darcy gets the feeling he saw the shaking hands and the flinch. “Well. I’ll not do it again, you have my word on that.”

“Okay,” says John. “Okay.”

“You okay?” says Selvig, standing up with the mug’s shards gathered carefully into a tray.

“Fine, I’m fine,” says John.

“Your hands shake,” says Thor, and yep, nothing gets past this guy. “I--had not known, I apologize.”

“I wear a medical bracelet, it’s not a secret,” John grumbles, as Selvig walks off. Darcy leans back in her chair, waves Izzy over and mouths _coffee now_.

 _Fuck you,_ Izzy mouths back.

 _Rude,_ Darcy answers.

“Darce, don’t antagonize Izzy,” says John, with a sigh. “We’re already in the doghouse with her as it is--and look, Thor, I don’t really talk about it. Much. I just wanna talk about you, right now, inside that cloud--”

“I wasn’t antagonizing her,” Darcy huffs. “She swore at me first.”

“I’ll speak with her later,” Thor says. “I was the one who offended her, after all. It’s only right if she hears the apology from my lips.”

“Your funeral, buddy,” says Darcy, holding her hands up just as two truckers come in, talking about a satellite about fifty, sixty miles out from town.

\--

“Well,” says Darcy, watching John walk off to the parked van with Thor in tow, “you tried.”

“I don’t know why I even bothered,” Selvig mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. Darcy pats him on the back, sympathetic.

“Look on the bright side, you can say _I told you so_ when this goes south,” she says cheerfully. “Now come on, I wanna get back to the lab, I wanna see if my download’s done.”

“What have I said about using my laptop to pirate music, Darcy,” says Selvig, as Darcy tugs him along down the sidewalk.

“I’m not using your laptop, I’m using Doc’s,” says Darcy, with a grin. “And it’s not like the Feds are going to pay attention to little old me stealing songs from the Internet, they got other shit, right?”

\--

“Wait a sec, isn’t that Doc’s garbage-can telescope? And his camera?”

A moment’s pause.

“Oh, shit.”

\--

“It’s a matter of national security, Ms. Lewis,” says the balding, blandly-smiling man in a suit. “We’re taking this away for evidence.”

“How is my _iPod_ evidence?” says Darcy, incredulous. “Like, okay, I’ll admit to some less than legal downloads but I’m _broke_ , okay--”

“Darcy,” says Selvig, tapping her on the forearm, “don’t.”

“Like hell!” Darcy snaps, then turns back on the suit. “My iPod is not evidence! And neither’s Doc’s stuff, definitely not his coffeemaker or his camera _why are you taking those he’ll kill you_ , but mostly my iPod.” She pauses, then waves a frustrated hand at the van where much of her boss’s research is currently being loaded. She’s seen him get angry at a guard for mishandling his coffeemaker, she’s pretty sure he’d ascend right into a new level of Pissed when he hears about this. “This is a violation of our constitutional rights,” she says. “A _totally serious_ one! You don’t get to come in here and _steal our stuff_ \--”

“Ms. Lewis,” says balding suit guy, pleasantly, “we aren’t stealing your things. Merely borrowing them to hold them for a little while.”

“Why can’t we hold them, huh?” Darcy says, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into the suit’s chest. She pauses, then adds, “Also I never told you my name.”

“I’m with SHIELD,” says balding suit guy. “We make it our business to know things.”

Selvig makes a soft noise behind her, one that sounds almost like a curse, and before Darcy knows it he’s pulling her back. “Don’t,” he repeats. “I know these guys. Just cooperate with them and _don’t antagonize them_.”

“I’m not antagonizing anybody,” huffs Darcy, “I’m just pointing out that I didn’t bullshit a paper on the Constitution for them to just up and violate the rights on it.”

“They’re SHIELD, they can do worse than that,” says Selvig, with the tone of someone haunted by experience.

Darcy lets out a breath. “They’re taking our stuff,” she repeats, and around her men in suits are carting away the blackboard, the equipment, the papers, everything. Even _Darcy’s_ electronics, which is just so completely unfair it baffles her. “ _My iPod._ "

“We’ll get it back,” says Selvig. “I’ll just e-mail a friend--”

Darcy leans up on her toes, squints over Selvig’s shoulder at a man carrying a laptop away, and says, “Isn’t he taking your laptop?”

“ _What?_ ”

\--

“You know,” says John, when they’ve made it about twenty minutes out from town in his van, buildings long since melted away to desert sand and cacti, “I don’t really like sand.”

“Oh?” says Thor, and John mentally curses. Great, good, what a brilliant pick-up line. “I happen to think it relaxing.”

“In specific places, maybe,” says John. “But out here, it’s just--dry, and hot, and course and rough and irritating. And it gets _everywhere_ , it gets in prosthetics and expensive equipment and it fucks everything up.”

“Ah, yes, that is annoying,” says Thor.

“You’re not that irritating, though,” says John. In for a penny, in for a pound, he supposes. “I mean, you’re handsome, you’re kind--don’t think I didn’t see you and Izzy talking on our way out--and you’re--refreshing. Like a drink of water in the desert.”

There’s a moment’s pause, during which he counts the silence in heartbeats and tries not to let himself think about how _horrible_ that was, before Thor says, “Have you been practicing that speech?”

“Every time,” John mutters. “I’m leading up to something, I swear.”

Thor nods, then looks straight ahead, chin lifting up. He’s got a nice profile, John thinks. Regal, like a king’s. “Continue on, then,” he says.

“My point is,” says John, fumbling, “that--I don’t know where you’re from, and I want to know. Especially how you got into that cloud, how you just showed up out of nowhere somehow.”

Thor smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his blue, blue eyes. “It’s a long story,” he says. “I may not have the time to tell it, on this journey, but--perhaps when I have taken back what is rightfully mine.”

“You’re strange,” says John.

Thor huffs out a laugh, turns to look at him then. The sunlight bounces off his golden hair for a moment, makes him look like something beautiful, something almost divine. It makes something twist in John’s stomach, uncertain if he, of all people, should be the one to see this. “Good strange or bad strange?” he asks.

“I’m not sure yet,” says John. “I haven’t gathered enough data yet.” He takes one hand off the wheel to wave vaguely at himself. “Scientist, you know,” he says. “But I’d welcome the opportunity.”

“I would too,” says Thor. “You are a strange man yourself, John Foster.”

“I’m a mystery, me,” John agrees.

“You’re a scholar, but you chose to accompany me at great risk to yourself,” says Thor. “So perhaps _strange_ isn’t the best word to describe you. Perhaps I should use _brave_ instead.”

“Or desperate,” says John. “Remember, you promised me answers.”

“And you shall have them,” says Thor, with a lopsided smile. “Once I have Mjolnir back.”

John has to admit, the man is _smooth_ , for a homeless possibly-crazy person. “God,” he mutters, “I really hope you aren’t crazy--”

His phone starts ringing then, _so tell me what you want what you really really want--_

He nearly crashes the van into a cactus, but slams his foot down on the brake and skids to a stop. Thor lets out a loud curse, holds on to his seatbelt as they spin before they stop.

“What was that?” he asks.

“Darcy,” John mutters, slipping his phone out of his pocket and sliding his thumb across the screen. “Darce, what the hell? Did you replace my ringtone again?”

“Spice Girls is a classic and you know it, Doc,” Darcy retorts over the phone, “and also, a bunch of suits just came in and stole my iPod because it was, and I quote, _a matter of national security_. Also they took your stuff. Mostly your research and equipment, actually, and Selvig’s.”

“Spice Girls is--wait. _What?_ ”

\--

“I have a plan,” says John Foster, the moment they pull up near Mjolnir. Too far away, for Thor’s liking, and he can’t wait, doesn’t want to wait to have Mjolnir back in his hand where it belongs, but there’s steel in Foster’s bright blue eyes and in his voice that gets Thor to stay.

“I’m interested in hearing it,” he says.

They walk around the small city that has somehow sprung up around Mjolnir, the men and women swarming in and around it like ants, crouching low when someone nearly spies them. All the while, John’s watching the scene with narrowed eyes, jaw tensed.

A scholar, and a warrior on top of it, it seems. It’s a blessing, to have met such a man as he on this backwards planet.

“Okay,” John says, as dusk falls upon them, and as they’re crouched on a hill nearby watching the guards pass again, “there’s a hole in their fence on the west side. Over there, see that? A little pulling and it’d be big enough to fit even you.”

“And you, I presume,” says Thor.

“Yeah,” says John. “I’ll sneak in after you.” He waves a hand at the guards, making their regular patrol around the fortress that’s sprung up around Mjolnir. “We’ve got to time it right, before the guards can make another go around. And we have to assume they’ve got surveillance cameras set up, so it’s likely we might get caught by one of them if we’re not careful.”

“I thought you said you’d never done anything like this before,” says Thor. “Yet you plan as well as any seasoned leader.”

“Yeah, well, they took my life’s work,” says John, huffing out a breath after a moment’s pause. “I’m not just going to let that shit slide on by, not when I’m going to make a breakthrough.” He taps his gloved fingers against his binoculars, making an odd sound, and says, “One of us is going to have to be the distraction.”

Thor almost turns to look at Loki, before he remembers--Loki isn’t here. Neither are the Warriors Three, or valiant Sif, all of whom would relish the prospect of a battle like this. The loss of them makes his heart ache, makes him miss them all the more, makes him want Mjolnir back in his hand all the more.

“I can provide a distraction,” he says. “Do you know where they’ve kept your work?”

“I can make a guess,” John says. “I, um, put a tracker on some of my more expensive equipment a while back after someone tried to steal them. And my phone’s still with me.” He fishes his phone out, slides his thumb across the screen, and squints at something, the light bathing his face in bright white. His eyes are very blue, Thor realizes. Very, _very_ blue, like the skies. “There’s a lot of interference, though.”

“We shall figure it out,” says Thor, getting to his feet.

“Are you going to charge in now?” says John, grabbing him by the sleeve and tugging him down. “No, look--they’re still on patrol. Give them a minute or two, and meanwhile--what is so interesting about your satellite that SHIELD’s swarming all over it?”  
“It isn’t a satellite,” says Thor, letting him. “It’s a hammer. A weapon forged in the fires of a dying star.”

“Ohhhh-kay,” says John. “So it’s a special hammer?”

“--yes,” says Thor, after a moment. “At least to me.”

John huffs out a breath. “Okay,” he says, bright blue eyes cutting from Thor to the fortress. “Okay--they’re gone.”

“I’ll go first,” says Thor, and moves.

\--

“There’s been a perimeter breach on the west side, sir.”

“Send agents to check it out.”

\--

(“Jesus shit,” says Clint, a few days after Thor’s scientist ex-boyfriend interrupted Tony’s megalomaniac robot’s rant with a well-timed Force-throw. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ.”

“Yeah?” says Kate, feet dangling over the couch. Lucky is sleeping peacefully on the floor, legs occasionally kicking as if he’s dreaming of chasing after cars.

“I punched Darth Vader in the face three years ago and he went down,” says Clint, collapsing into his purple armchair. John Foster’s _Darth Vader_ , which means: “I knocked out _Darth goddamn Vader._ ”

Kate shuts her magazine and sets it down on the table, turns her head to look at Clint. “Wait,” she says, “you mean Thor’s ex? The guy who you told me telekinetically threw a robot around while drunk? _That_ guy is the actual _Darth Vader_?”

“Yeah,” says Clint, giddy. “ _Yeah._ And I knocked him out.”

“Holy shit,” says Kate. “Oh, boy. How did he not choke you?”

“He didn’t know who he was and I got the drop on him,” says Clint, puffing his chest up with pride. Okay, granted, Anakin had fought back, had been _brutal_ in fighting back, but Clint’s the one who _won_.

“You got the drop,” repeats Kate, “on an amnesiac Darth Vader, on the same night that you first saw Thor.” She stares at him for a moment, then lets out a sigh, and says, “The worst part is, I don’t think that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say.”)

\--

“Goddammit,” says Darcy. “Pick _up_ , Doc.”

“This is the sixth call you’ve made, Darcy,” says Selvig, tiredly. They’re sitting on the empty lab’s rooftop, and John’s _not answering_. Hasn’t answered since Darcy told him about SHIELD coming in and taking much of his research, in fact.

She’s--worried, is the thing. She’s been his intern for long enough to get worried, after that ominous promise to get everything back.

Nobody goes and says stuff like that, she knows, and manages to get through it unscathed. She keeps running through all the worst-case scenarios in her head--jail time, disappearance, death and burial in a shallow grave in the New Mexico desert. He’d hate that last one, she thinks dizzily, he complains about the sand all the time.

“He’ll be okay,” says Selvig.

“Like your friend?” Darcy says, her words harsher than usual.

Selvig lets out a long breath.

Darcy swings her legs, anxious. “Okay, that was sucky of me to do, sorry,” she says. “It’s been _hours_. He could call.”

“You know that if he could’ve, he would’ve answered by now,” says Selvig. “Look. John’s a resourceful and clever man, he’ll be fine--”

Darcy’s phone rings, just then, and Darcy almost cries with relief when she sees the name attached to the number. She slides her thumb across the screen, taps the speaker button, and says, “John! _What the hell_ , man--”

“Um, hi, Darce,” says John’s tinny voice. “I, ah, I might be. A little bit arrested right now.”

“A little bit,” says balding suit guy’s voice, farther away. Darcy immediately pictures throwing a hairbrush at his stupid non-shiny head.

“Please come bail me out I couldn’t get our stuff back also they took my notebook _I am so sorry_ ,” John says, words coming in a breathless rush. “Also please come bail Erik’s cousin out too.”

 _Your cousin,_ mouths Darcy.

 _I’m going to kill him,_ mouths Selvig. “All right, we’ll come get you both,” he says, out loud.

“We?” says Darcy. “But--oh, yeah. All my stuff’s there.”

“Sorry,” says John, over the phone. At the very least he sounds sincere about it, and hey, Darcy can’t fault him for trying. “Hey, uh--Coulson, right? Can you give my intern her iPod back? I promise there’s nothing on it that implicates her in any crime.”

“She illegally downloaded a One Direction album,” says balding suit guy, patient. “Among others.”

“I keep forgetting that’s illegal,” says John, sheepish.

“Please don’t arrest me,” says Darcy, meekly.

“We have other things to worry about besides your intern’s less than legal methods of acquiring music, Dr. Foster,” says balding suit guy, as polite as possible. “She won’t be arrested. At least not by SHIELD.” He pauses, then adds, “But I do recommend masking her IP address next time.”

“Gee, thanks for the advice that I didn’t ask for,” says Darcy. “Also, if you could actually talk to me instead of just talking about me like I’m not here, that would be great, thanks.”

“Can I talk to my cousin,” says Selvig, “uh--Donald?”

“Not at the moment, no,” says balding suit guy’s blandly pleasant voice over the phone. Darcy imagines throwing a book at him. “But you can talk with him when you pick him and Dr. Foster up.”

“Thanks,” Selvig mutters, glaring at the phone. “Oh, and John?”

“Don’t say it. _Don’t say it._ ”

“I told you so.”

\--

“Well, of course they broke in! They were so distraught when they heard you’d taken John’s research that, well, they--sort of went a bit off the reservation, so to speak.”

“Also, you stole my iPod.”

“That doesn’t explain why your cousin managed to plow through some of the best and brightest SHIELD had to offer.”

“Steroids! He’s a fitness nut! That was actually why he came over here, he heard there was a new diet featuring ingredients you could only find in New Mexico.”

“And then Doc blinded him with science.”

“Uh-huh.”

\--

There’s a few bars in town, but none of them are quite up to Darcy’s standard. At least, none of them have a working karaoke machine and that homey, cozy vibe the bar she used to visit back in college had.

Still, sometimes, a woman just needs a drink.

“Man,” she says, watching Selvig and Thor chugging mugs full of beer in the funniest drinking contest she’s ever seen, though that might be the alcohol talking, “are they even _breathing_?”

“I think so,” says John, nursing a glass of water instead. Sucks to be the designated driver, she thinks. “I’m pulling for Selvig to win. I’ve seen him outdrink Utkin.”

“Professor Utkin?” says Darcy, incredulous. “ _Vodka is water_ Utkin?”

“Yep,” says John, taking a sip of water. He glances to the side and makes a face. “Hey, heads-up, you got a creep coming this way.”

“Oh, thanks,” says Darcy, scooting her chair closer and leaning on John’s shoulder, stroking his bicep. Sure enough, just out of the corner of her eyes, a guy sits down next to her and waves the bartender over.

“Her shot’s on me,” he says.

“Her shot’s on her, buddy,” says Darcy.

“Oh, come on,” says the guy, turning to look at her. Whatever he’s about to say next dies on his lips, as he sees John and his scar and and the bruise and the very, _very_ pleasant smile on his face. “Okay,” says the guy, meekly, and changes seats.

Darcy waits until the guy’s out of sight, then she straightens up, smoothing her hair out. “Thanks, Doc,” she says.

“Welcome,” says John. “Maybe next time don’t stroke my arm? It’s weird.”

“Yeah, well, imagine how weird it is for me,” Darcy huffs. She glances back at Thor and Selvig, now on their second mug each. “Oh, dude, I think Thor’s gonna win,” she says.

John leans on the counter to support himself, craning his neck to see Thor and Selvig still chugging away. “Oh, crap,” he says. “Which one do you want to carry?”

“I’m not carrying anybody, Doc,” says Darcy, cheerfully, downing her shot of vodka and nearly choking on it, gagging before she can force it down. “ _Oh my god_ my throat is _on fire_ ,” she gasps.

“You’re like five feet tall and you don’t drink regularly,” says John. “Vodka is not for you.”

“Why didn’t you _say_?” Darcy huffs.

“I did say,” says John, propping his cheek up on a hand. “I said, _Darcy, don’t drink vodka, you’re not Utkin_ , and you said--and I’m quoting you verbatim here-- _don’t tell me what to do, Doc, you went and got yourself and a crazy homeless person arrested because you both broke into the shadiest government facility since Area 51, I’ll drink the damn vodka if I want to_.”

“You did,” says Darcy, dryly. “So you don’t get to tell me what to do for about the next month or so.” She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and says, “And also I can’t believe you. _Seriously._ ”

“I couldn’t just let them get away with taking my research,” says John.

“You didn’t even get my iPod back,” says Darcy, morosely.

“Yeah,” says John, with a smile as his hand sneaks inside his jacket, “about that, I saw something on my way out that looked very familiar, and since no one was actually guarding it, I figured, why not?”

And he pulls out a familiar white device, and the earbuds with it.

Darcy’s jaw drops. “Oh my god,” she whispers, before she tugs him into a hug. “You’re the best boss ever,” she says into his shoulder.

“Thanks, Darcy,” says John, with a huff of laughter. He pauses, then says, suspicious, “Wasn’t the last boss you had fired for showing up drunk too many times?”

“The _best boss_ ,” Darcy repeats.

\--

John sets the lawn chairs up first on the lab’s rooftop, after Darcy and Selvig have been deposited in beds. He’s got to admit, he’s surprised Thor is still standing at all after that drinking contest, let alone sober enough to be coherent and coordinated.

After everything today, he supposes he should really stop being surprised.

He gets a small fire going--it’s a cold night out, and a fire this size isn’t going to do anything to him or to the lab, empty now without all of his equipment and research cluttering the place up. He should thank SHIELD for that much, he supposes, but a black rage swells up in his chest at the thought.

It scares him sometimes, how angry he can get, the rage threatening to swallow him whole. He closes his eyes, breathes in and out, and opens them again, looks up at the stars.

“What did Selvig tell you?” he says, moving to sit down in the lawn chair beside Thor. “Hopefully nothing about that time with Richards, but if he did, I maintain that Reed Richards is a giant asshole and basically useless anyway.”

“No, and I’ll just take your word for that,” Thor says, as John draws his blanket tighter around himself. “No, what he told me was how you met. And your memory loss.” He huffs out a breath, and in the cold night air of the New Mexico desert, it comes out as a white puff of smoke. “I am truly sorry for your loss.”

“God, if I had a dime for every time I’ve ever heard that said to me,” John says, pulling a knee up to his chest, “I’d be richer than Tony Stark.” He sighs, brushes a stray strand of hair behind his ear, and says, “It’s been years. I’ve made my peace with it, or at least I don’t think about it much unless something weird sets me off. I mean, yeah, it sucks that I can’t remember shit about who I was, but--I know who I am _now_.”

“And who is that?” Thor asks.

“The guy who comes up here when he can’t reconcile particle data or when his intern’s driving him nuts,” says John. “I come up here a lot, honestly, now that I think about it.”

“I don’t blame you,” says Thor, glancing upwards. “The stars are beautiful tonight.”

“You are too,” says John, and Thor’s gaze jerks back to him with such speed that he’s surprised the guy didn’t break his neck. “Um--okay, sorry--”

“No, thank you for the compliment,” says Thor, smiling at him, and it’s dazzling, it’s thrilling, it’s as bright as a star. “I think you are too. Beautiful, that is. Unless you prefer handsome.”

John makes a strangled noise, and buries his face in his hands. Every time, _every time_ \--it’s been so long since he last dated anyone, all his best lines are horribly outdated now.

He glances up, sees the bruise on Thor’s face where one of SHIELD’s thugs punched him, and thinks _my fault, my fault, mine_. “Sorry,” he says, quiet. “That I got you arrested.”

“You didn’t get me arrested, John,” says Thor. “I would’ve gone inside anyway, to take back Mjolnir. In fact, I should be the one apologizing to you for getting you arrested. Had I not asked you to come with me--”

“I’d have gone anyway,” says John. “To the base. I mean, they took all my stuff with them.” He sighs, says, “All that data, all that equipment, all those _years_ , all gone, and now I’m going to have to start from scratch.”

“Not completely from scratch,” says Thor, with a conspiratorial smile, and his hand slips inside his jacket to pull out a familiar black notebook.

 _Thank you,_ John wants to say, but the words stick in his mouth, the sheer joy bubbling up in his chest and his lungs. He takes the notebook, instead, reverent, as though handling a holy and fragile thing. _Thank you,_ he wants to say, but the words weigh heavy on his tongue, and how do you thank someone, he wonders, for giving you back everything?

Thor’s smile melts into something softer, sadder. “I have another apology to make,” he says. “You have been nothing but kind to me, and I have been far less grateful to you than you deserve. This was all I could get back, but it might begin to make up for it.”

“Well,” John begins, looking down at his notebook and flipping through the pages, just to check that they’re all still there, “I hit you with my car a couple times. I’d say we’re pretty much even.”

“Perhaps I had it coming,” Thor wryly says. “I am sorry it isn’t as much as I promised--”

“You kidding?” says John. “This is--This is _years_ of work, I don’t have to start from scratch anymore.” He unclips the pen from the back of the notebook, huffs out a laugh. “You even got my lucky pen back! I--” He looks up again, smiles at Thor. “Thank you,” he says, “ _so much_.”

“Welcome,” says Thor.

John looks back down at his notebook, flips through the pages again. All of it’s still here, thank fuck, Thor got it back before SHIELD could go through it in earnest--

\--he stops flipping through the pages, the realization like a douse of cold water on his joy.

“What’s wrong?” says Thor.

“SHIELD’s not going to let this research see the light of day,” says John, quiet. “They’re a shady government agency, that’s how they work.” He reaches a hand up, wipes away a tear, says, “I don’t think I’ll ever get this--any of this--out. And even if I could, they’d bury it somehow, and me and maybe even Selvig and Darcy along with it.” Darcy, good god, _Darcy_ \--she’s not even a scientist, but if SHIELD can take her things along with John’s and Selvig’s, then he wonders what else they could do to her.

Thor scoots closer, takes his hand, says, “No, John, listen to me--you must not give up. You must finish what you and Selvig and Darcy started.”

“Why?” John asks. “Why shouldn’t I just--pack up, call it a day, go--go somewhere I could almost call _home_ \--”

“Because you’re right,” says Thor, taking the notebook from him and opening it to the diagram he’d doodled, almost half a year ago. He takes the pen as well, fingers brushing against John’s left hand and sending sparks up John’s arm, and they’re so _close_ , he thinks, he can smell the sweat and the cheap shampoo and his own cologne and something else, something older.

The firelight makes him look like something magical, something almost divine. Like an angel, or a god.

“Your ancestors called it magic,” Thor says, drawing something on the notebook, outlining a tree around all the worlds, “and you call it science. I come from a place where they are one and the same.”

It sounds ridiculous. It _should be_ ridiculous.

But something in John’s gut tells him it’s true--undoubtedly, indubitably, absolutely _true_ , all of it. Something in his gut says, _yes, this is real, this is true, all of it, all of it._

“Tell me more,” he says, taking Thor’s hand.

\--

They stay up late talking into the night, John making notes and asking questions, Thor answering questions and making more notes, the two of them pushing their lawn chairs closer and closer together.

It’s during a lull in the conversation that John leans in closer, a hand resting on the back of Thor’s neck. Thor tugs him in the rest of the way, and their first kiss is an awkward smashing of mouths, the two of them nearly falling over the lawn chairs laughing, limbs tangled up.

“Shit,” says John, “shit, I’m--okay, I _promise_ I’m better at kissing, usually--”

Their second kiss is less awkward.

“Perhaps we should take this downstairs,” says Thor.

“I’ll pull out the sofa bed,” says John.

\--

They take it downstairs.

\--

Morning dawns.

“Nice night?” says Darcy, leaning back in her chair and eyeing the hickey peeking out over John’s collar. At least someone enjoyed their night, she thinks--her head feels like someone drove a spike into it, then dropped a monster truck on it.

“Very,” says John, with a grin.

Selvig squints at him, his aspirin fizzing away in his glass. “Didn’t I say not to sleep with the crazy homeless person?” he says.

John, cheerfully, says, “I never said I definitely wouldn’t.”

“You owe me twenty bucks,” Darcy says to Selvig, as John all but skips back over to the kitchen counter, him and Thor spooning eggs and bacon onto plates. “Fork it all over.”

“I never agreed to that bet, if you’ll recall,” says Selvig, swirling the water in his glass around as Thor deposits the plates in front of him and Darcy. “Goddammit, John. And thanks, Thor.”

“You’re very welcome,” says Thor, just as cheerful. Darcy squints at him--yep, that is definitely a matching hickey on his neck. She glances at John, who just smiles smugly at her and gives a thumbs-up, and manages, by some miracle, not to roll her eyes at him.

\--

“It’s a beautiful theory, John,” says Selvig, a little less hungover after John shows him the drawing Thor made in his notebook, “but you and I know that _I had a gut feeling this was true_ is not going to be good enough for the scientific community. You’re going to need hard evidence.”

“It sounds completely nuts to me,” says Darcy, cheerfully. “But hey, if your gut and the dude you had wild sex with last night say it’s right, it’s totally right!”

“Sarcasm does not become you, Lewis,” says John, dryly.

“ _Found you_!” someone bellows.

Nearly as one, they all turn to the doors, where four people dressed right out of a Renaissance fair are--banging on the doors, with happy grins. Darcy counts them--one girl, three guys. All of them wearing actual armor, which is--weird, she's pretty sure there's no Renaissance Fair in town.

“My friends!” Thor bellows back.

“What the _fuck_ ,” says John.

Darcy drops her mug.

So does Selvig.

\--

“My father is--dead because of me. I must remain in exile.”

“Thor--your father still lives.”

\--

John ends up cooking a lot more bacon and eggs than usual, using up half the month’s supply to feed all four of the newcomers.

Darcy guards her Pop-Tarts jealously, clutching the box close to her chest and hissing as the biggest newcomer--Volstagg, apparently--reaches out to take it. “ _My precious_ ,” she snarls at him.

“You’ll have to forgive her, Thor ate all her Pop-Tarts when he got here,” says John, glancing at Selvig, who’s opening and closing his mouth in pure shock. It feels so _good_ to be proven right. “So, uh--how’d you all get here?”

“The Bifrost,” says the woman--Sif.

“The what,” says Selvig.

“It’s a bridge between worlds,” Sif explains, and Selvig leans in closer as she talks. John manages not to laugh at him, looking so interested now when before he’d been so skeptical.

“Heimdall is a _very_ complicated fellow,” the blond guy--Fandral--says to Thor, after swallowing the mouthful of scrambled eggs he’d scraped up. “We’re not actually allowed to be here, by command of your brother, but we couldn’t just _leave_ you here.”

The grim one, Hogun, says, “Your father is asleep--he’d been holding the Odinsleep off for some time, it seems."

“Lady Frigga’s a wee bit angry at him for that,” says Fandral, brightly. “But I cannot conceive of her being so angry at _you_ that she would blame you!”

“Loki said--” Thor begins, but stops. “No, Loki--Loki _lied_ to me. _Why_?”

“Power,” says John, sitting down next to him. “You said he was king now, right? Or acting as king while the actual king’s in a coma. But Thor’s the heir, and technically the rightful ruler to the throne.”

“This is some _Song of Ice and Fire_ bullshit,” Darcy comments, scooting away from Volstagg. “With a hundred percent less incest, though.”

Thor shakes his head. “It must’ve been something I’ve done to him,” he says, quiet. “I have to speak with him. I have to apologize, for whatever it is--”

Outside, thunder booms. John looks first, sees the dark cloud gathering outside of town, feels that insistent little tug in his gut, the one that says to him now _danger danger_. “That,” he says, faintly, as all of them rush outside to get a better look at whatever’s going on, “is not a tornado.”

“No,” says Thor, tone grim. “It’s something far worse.”

“Was somebody else coming?” says Darcy, clutching her Pop-Tarts close.

\--

“John, you have to leave--”

“Are you leaving?”

“No, I need to help get these people out--”

“Then I’m getting these people out too.”

\--

They get the people out. Darcy actually races off to the pet store to help save the pets, god only knows why, and comes back with a little puppy trailing after her that John has to return to the pet store owner’s truck.

“I was gonna name that after you,” says Darcy, morosely, following in his footsteps.

“That’s real flattering, Darce, thanks,” says John, marching into the general store. “Everyone out! Orderly fashion, back door, keep your kids with you--”

They leave. John sweeps the premises twice over with a professionalism that terrifies even him, deep down inside, and he finds a small, terrified child in aisle three on the second sweep, crouched behind a display of canned foods.

“Hey, kid,” he says, softly. The kid looks up, her big brown eyes watching him warily as he crouches down to meet her gaze. “Where’s your mom?”

“She’s not here,” she says. “I came with my big sister--is she okay? She’s scared of storms.”

“I bet she is,” says John, giving his most reassuring smile. “I’m John. This is my friend Darcy. We’re here to get everyone out of here, because there’s a really bad storm coming, and we don’t want people getting hurt.”

The girl nods. “I’m scared,” she confesses. “What do I do, Mr. John?”

John holds his hand out, pushes aside the twinge of familiarity. “Come with me,” he says. “We’ll get you to your sister.”

\--

“Man, you’re pretty good with kids,” Darcy says, once they’ve delivered the kid to her sister.

John pauses, looking away with a furrowed brow. “Guess I am,” he says, with a shrug, looking back at her. “Okay, let’s get going, Thor and his friends probably need help--”

\--

“The hell is that?” says Darcy.

“The Destroyer,” says Thor. “Run. _Now_.”

Something about it _screams_ wrongness, to John, scares him down to his bones. There isn’t much, he’s found, that can really do that. And besides, he knows when he’s outmatched.

He grabs Darcy and Selvig, and they run.

\--

They don’t get far.

The diner explodes just as they get near, and for a moment all John can feel is pain. He’s bruised something, he thinks, maybe even bruised his ribs. He lifts his head, and Selvig’s shielding Darcy, helping her up.

He can get up. He has to. And that _fucking_ thing that came down here is going to _burn_ \--

He pushes himself up from the concrete, and fire lances up his arms. Yep, okay, he’s cracked something important, all right, or else there’s shrapnel from the blast. He checks--it’s shrapnel. Oh, boy, it’s going to be a _bitch_ to get them out.

\--he doesn’t even want to know how he knows that. He focuses on pushing himself up to his feet instead, getting to Darcy and Selvig, and asking, “You guys okay?”

“Fine, we’re fine,” says Selvig.

“I still am not dying for six college credits,” Darcy informs him. “If I do die, I’m gonna haunt your ass for that.”

“You’re not dying,” John says, coldly determined. “ _No one_ is dying. Not today.”

Selvig squints at him. “John,” he says, quiet, “you can’t do anything.”

“I have to do something,” says John. There’s a rage burning in his chest, and it would be so easy to give in, run after the Destroyer and--and do something, he doesn’t know. Tear it apart limb from limb, he thinks. “I have to.”

Darcy takes his hand. “Doc,” she says, reasonable, “what are you gonna fight that thing with? You saw what it can do, and also, I kinda need you to get those six college credits. Since we’re not gonna die and all.”

John lets out a breath. The rage is still burning inside him, and it would still be easy enough to give in, but Darcy’s squeezing his hand, Selvig’s drawing him in close, and he breathes in, breathes out, and lets go of the anger, of the desire to do something.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

\--

They fall back to the empty lab.

Thor--

Thor walks forward, one man against the oncoming storm.

\--

For a moment, Darcy thinks Thor’s actually gotten through to the Destroyer. To whoever’s controlling it. Whatever. It turns to walk away, and beside her, John breathes easier.

Then it turns back and backhands Thor. Darcy hears that sickening crack, hears John’s scream, and he slips her and Selvig’s grasp and runs forward.

\--

“It’s over,” says Thor.

“No,” says John, feeling the rage burning again, “no, it’s not, it can’t be, you _can’t_ \--”

Thor takes his hand, smiles up at him. “It is,” he says, quiet, and his voice grounds John out before he can get caught up in his fury again, “you’re safe.”

He doesn’t--He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if they’re safe, he doesn’t know anything, he doesn’t even know his own _past_ and how could he say that they’re safe with any assurance if--“We’re safe,” he says ( _lies_ ), and musters a smile despite the tears, the grief, the rage, all of it threatening to pull him down, drown him. “We’re safe.”

“Good,” says Thor. “Live. Tell everyone what you’ve found.” His hand slips, reaches up to brush a strand of hair behind John’s ear. “Live,” he says, before his eyes close at last.

“Thor? Come on, don’t--don’t do this to me, don’t you _dare_ do this--wake up, _please_ \--”

\--

The hammer comes.

Lightning crackles.

“Oh. My. _God_ ,” says Darcy, having pulled John away with a lot of effort. She’s going to work out regularly after this, she swears, John Foster’s _heavy_ for such a scrawny guy. “Doc?”

“I’m seeing this,” says John, dazed. “Holy _shit_. Where’s my camera?”

“SHIELD took it.”

“Mother _fuckers_.”

\--

“Is this how you normally look?”

“More or less, yes.”

John grins. “It’s a good look on you,” he says, looking Thor up and down. He definitely looks like a king, in this armor.

“Share him, share him, share him,” Darcy chants quietly next to him.

“Nope,” says John, not even looking at her even as he smiles smugly. Her boss is such a little shit, she thinks, determinedly not thinking about how, just for a second when he’d looked at the Destroyer, his eyes had glowed a burning yellow. She’d been dazed and disoriented anyway, hallucinations can get pretty common with that combination.

“Thank god,” Selvig mutters.

Thor grins back, then looks at his friends and says, “We must go to the Bifrost site! I would have words with my brother--”

“‘Scuse me!” someone yells. Darcy sighs, and she, Selvig and John turn to balding suit guy, walking calmly up to them from his non-suspicious black car. “Donald,” says balding suit guy, “I don’t think you or your allies have been completely honest with me.”

Darcy grabs hold of John, hisses, “ _Don’t punch him_.”

“Just a _little_ ,” John hisses back. “I’ve had a long day.”

“Do not worry,” says Thor, stepping forward. “Know this, son of Coul--you and I fight for the same cause: the protection of this world. From this day forth, you may count me as your ally--if you return the items you have taken from John.”

“Stolen,” says John. “You _shits_.”

“Borrowed,” balding suit guy corrects, before letting out a sigh. “Of course you can have your equipment--”

“And research,” Selvig adds.

“And all _our_ stuff,” says Darcy.

“--and everything else back,” balding suit guy continues, as if he’d never been interrupted. What a dick, thinks Darcy. “You’ll need it to continue your research.”

John, beside Darcy, practically preens.

He preens even more when Thor turns to him and says, “Do you wish to see the bridge we spoke of?” Darcy’s got to give him this, he’s like a hundred percent smoother wearing armor and a cape and wielding that hammer, what was its name, Myuh-something? She’s happy for John for tapping that, really.

“Hell yeah, I would,” says John, and holds on to him.

\--

“Well, that’s not fair,” says Darcy. “They flew.”

“Goddammit,” says Selvig, with feeling. “Did the Destroyer tear up the van? We’ll cram you all in the back.”

“No thanks,” says Coulson, “I already have a ride.”

“It didn’t, and thank you,” says Sif. “We’ll take that offer, so long as you don’t mind our smell.”

“We’re a bit singed, you see,” Fandral puts in, smiling brilliantly.

“And sore,” Hogun dryly says.

“We don’t mind,” says Selvig, a little too quickly before Darcy can say anything. “So long as you answer our questions, we’re happy to share the van.”

“Man, oh, man, is Doc going to have a field day with this new attitude of yours,” says Darcy. “Whatever happened to _don’t sleep with the crazy homeless person_?”

\--

They land near the circle, and Thor strides forward, confident. John follows behind, and says, “So, these circles--they’re made when the Bifrost transports you?”

“Yes,” says Thor. “They’re there to mark a way home for us. When we are lost, all we need to do is find the circle.” He pauses, then adds, dryly, “Or just call for Heimdall wherever we are.”

“Cool,” says John. “So, before, you were shouting for him--is that usually how you contact him?”

“Pretty much, yes,” says Thor, walking into the circle. “It goes a little like this: _Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!_ ”

John crouches down next to the circle, prods at the outline and looks up. “Nothing’s happening,” he says. “Is that supposed to happen? Because earlier there was a cloud gathering.” He looks up as everyone else arrives, Darcy jogging to keep up with the warriors’ powerful strides, Selvig not even trying and just walking behind them. “Maybe shout louder?”

Thor frowns, shakes his head. “He should be able to hear us already,” he says. “ _Heimdall!_ ”

“What’s going on?” says Darcy. “Why’s there shouting?”

“Heimdall does not answer,” Thor says, tone grave.

Hogun huffs out a breath. “Then we are stranded,” he says.

“Only if we give up,” says Thor, determined. “ _Heimdall! Heimdall, if you can hear me, we need you now!_ ”

\--

The cloud gathers. John backs away as the warriors charge in, jubilant and excited at the prospect of going home. It must be nice to have somewhere to call home, he thinks, briefly bitter for a moment. Then he breathes out, and lets it go.

Thor takes his hand, tugs him in close. “I must go back to Asgard,” he says.

“Yeah, smack your brother around a little bit,” says John, dryly.

“ _Talk_ with him, he can still see reason,” says Thor, sternly. Then he leans his forehead against John’s, and says, “But I give you my word, John--I will return. For you.” He lifts his hand up, presses his lips against the metal knuckles. “Deal?”

John closes the distance between their lips.

“Deal,” he whispers, when they break away.

It’s the last time he sees Thor for two years.

\--

(“I thought I’d find you up here,” says Thor, and Anakin cranes his neck to see the other man coming towards him, scoots over to let him have room. “Is Darcy driving you insane again?”

“Nah, I sicced her on Obi-wan,” says Anakin, carefully keeping his fingers away from brushing against Thor’s hand. It’s always awkward, running into an ex, but he’s pretty sure this takes the cake. “No, I just--didn’t really feel like company, I guess.”

“Would you mind mine?” says Thor.

Anakin glances at him. “No,” he says, honestly. He should, he supposes, considering he’d broken up with the man, but Thor is a steady presence, when even Selvig’s not as steady as he used to be. “I don’t mind at all.”

Thor smiles, and looks up. “We saved the realms,” he says. “Tales will be sung of this day, and among them will be yours.”

Anakin looks up, watches the stars shine bright above them, and thinks of the boats, blazing bright against the dark sky, the ashes that floated up to join the stars. “There’s enough stories about me,” he says, tired. “All of them are--they’re nothing good, they usually tend more towards _scourge of the galaxy_ and _be glad he’s dead_.”

“Neither of which are true now,” says Thor. “And your son knows better.”

“Luke’s always known better,” says Anakin. “He’s a good man, he’s better than I ever was.” He smiles. “They’ll tell stories about him, you know. Him, Leia, even that smuggler Han. They’re already telling stories about them.”

“Do you know of any?” says Thor.

Anakin draws a knee up to his chest. “Most of them I got off of Imperial reports and, um, Force-choking people,” he says, “but did I ever tell you about the time they stole a Star Destroyer from the Empire?”)


End file.
